


He took a step but then felt tired

by heavenisalibrary



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-30
Updated: 2013-07-17
Packaged: 2017-12-16 16:29:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/864149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heavenisalibrary/pseuds/heavenisalibrary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’d given River so much — he’d given her the freedom to dictate her own life and person, he’d given her his hearts, and now she was going to give him the family he’d been piecing together for years, but had never quite managed to secure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. He Said, "I'll Rest a Little While"

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, god. Okay. This will be multiple parts (assuming I don't chicken out.) I just really want the Doctor and most of the reboot companions to all still be friends and hang out and stuff, so this fic is basically going to jump in and out of everyone's lives as River tries to bring everyone together. 
> 
> Definitely will have Amy, Rory, Martha, Mickey, and Clara. Will probably also include Donna, Wilf, Brian, and Jack. Here goes.
> 
> Overall and chapter titles from Regina Spektor's "Blue Lips."

River had a family. Their relationship was complicated and out of order at best, but it was one of the only constants in River’s life. She grew up beside Amy and Rory as Mels, traveled with them as River, and even after they parted ways with the Doctor she never stayed away from them for long. Of course, landing in their time in New York was all but impossible (so naturally she managed it five or six times) but they’d travel out of the state and meet her for a long weekend as much as twice a month, sometimes more. She left a pad of psychic paper for them, so when her mother needed her best friend — or when River needed hers — they’d write to one another and plan a meeting.

The other constant in her life was the Doctor. The years when the two most important things in her life — her parents and her husband — intersected were the happiest, to be sure. Things were simpler and happier and it was only when she started to notice changes in him in the absence of Amy and Rory that she realized that perhaps he needed family, too. There was no short supply of love for the madman in the blue box in the universe, that she’d proven early on — but his loved ones hardly stuck around forever, and even when it was totally healthy and reasonable for his self-made family to move on and he smiled and saluted and bade them farewell with a hug and a wink, she knew it hurt him. He was wonderful and brilliant and noble and in so many ways ineffable, but he was also sad and lonely and selfish, and she knew if he could’ve tucked all of the people he collected over the years into his breast pocket and never let them go, he would’ve done in a heartbeat.

It crossed her mind fairly often when they were traveling, after Manhattan. The look on his face when he saw something that Amy would find funny, or he thought of a joke to play on Rory, or once when they were people watching over tea and spotted a family across the road, a mother and a father who looked nothing like Amy or Rory, but their daughter was a curly-haired redhead, and they were joined by another couple moments after, and River felt her own hearts constrict; she put her hand over his and squeezed, trying not to watch him as he swallowed past the lump in his throat.

The biggest problem, River realized the more time went on, was that she wouldn’t always be around, either. She knew everybody died eventually, of course, and she knew that her life expectancy (so long as she didn’t do anything permanently stupid) was borderline infinite, but she always recognized the look her idiot husband got in his eyes from time to time. Certain things she said, certain places she asked him to go — he looked sad and terrified and so, so sorry; she wasn’t stupid, and she knew him inside out, so it took her no time at all to realize that he’d already seen her death, and that it wasn’t terribly far off. A lifetime of life-threatening situations and an upbringing as an assassin made her far less than sentimental when it came to the thought of her own death. It didn’t scare her — it happened to everyone at some point, and she took comfort in the thought that the Doctor would be there, and that even as she died he’d just be starting their story. It was never-ending in that way, and so she’d live on through him, and she’d live on through her work, and anyway River had yet to find a situation she hadn’t found her way out of, so she wasn’t totally convinced that she couldn’t cheat death, anyway. She was, however, scared to leave the Doctor on his own. He didn’t deal well with grief, and he was only getting worse — she wasn’t fond of the idea of her Doctor marauding around the universe with an open wound. She could only imagine the damage he would cause. Even worse than that was the thought of him simply stopping, of disappearing into the heart of his ship and giving up altogether. 

She had these thoughts playing about her mind for ages, honestly, but it wasn’t until she and the Doctor had a close call with some blasters that she decided she needed to do something about it. The stumbled back into the TARDIS, and she made a shaky beeline for the first aid kit beneath the console, and the Doctor followed closely behind, taking the box off of her and forcing her to sit down. She let him unbutton her shirt and begin to bandage the blaster wound on her side, biting her lower lip to keep from crying out as he placed the antiseptic. His face was pale and drawn, his eyes fixed on his hands as they worked, and she didn’t miss how they shook slightly. Two inches up, she knew, and it would’ve knocked out one of her hearts instantly; she’s more Time Lord than not, but she could see in the tight lines of his face that he was as unsure as she was that he could’ve restarted it before her second heart gave out from overexertion. And they both were acutely aware that all of her regenerations were, well, with him. 

She reached out to run a hand through his hair, brushing the strands that flop over his eyes back and humming slightly as he began to place the bandage on her wound. The longer she looked at him, the more upset he looked; he looked almost green, and his hands felt weaker and weaker against her skin.

“Breathe, sweetie,” she said quietly, reaching down to wrap his hands in hers once the bandage is in place. He looks down at their joined hands, but didn’t respond. “I can already feel it healing. And you got out alright, hm?”

“If they’d shot me,” the Doctor said, “I would’ve regenerated.”

“What a pity, too,” she said. Her voice sounded weak, even to her, and she re-buttoned her shirt, shifting in her seat and trying hard not to look too uncomfortable. “Shame to waste such a pretty face so young.”

She tried to smile at him, but his face was still serious.

“You wouldn’t have,” he said quietly. 

“But they missed, darling,” she said, releasing his hands to place her palms against his cheeks. She leaned forward to rest her forehead against his, forcing him to look her in the eyes, but his expression stole the breath from her lungs. She wanted to scold him for being petulant, or for being maudlin, or for reminding her that she wasn’t actually a superhero, but what she saw in his expression was a chasm of grief so deep and so wide that nothing could bridge it. He’d lost so much in his long, long life, and he was simply trying to hold onto her as long as possible. 

“I know, I know,” he murmured, shaking his head. She pressed a kiss to his forehead. “But it was just — it was close, wasn’t it? And I just watched you fall, I could see you bleeding, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen you stumble before, River, I forget that you’re not immortal —”

“You and me both.”

He smiled a bit, just a slight twitch to the corner of his mouth. “I simply cannot lose you.”

His straightforwardness startled her, and she blinked at him, at a loss for words. The seriousness of the situation suddenly weight down on her, settling heavily in her stomach. River looked at his dear, dear face — the lines on his forehead that would only grow deeper, the soft shape of his nose, the frown on his lips and the slight lift to the corner of his mouth and cheek as though he were cringing, and back to those impossibly old eyes. She thought to speak, but she couldn’t come up with any satisfactory words — she loved him, of course, but the entire universe knew that, and somehow the words felt inadequate as they floated across her mind. Instead she leaned forward, brushing her nose against his, and before she could blink he lunged forward to kiss her, burying his hands in his hair and pressing his lips to hers with a passion that would have startled her had she not felt it boiling beneath her own skin. His hands shifted down her body until he unthinkingly clenched his hands against her side when she rolled her tongue against his just so, and her cringe drew him away.

“Sorry, sorry,” he said, kissing her gently a couple of times, little glancing blows to her heart that left her breathless. “I love you, do you know?”

“I had a hunch.”

“Yes, well,” he said, “have more than that, would you? I married you, after all.”

She hummed in affirmation, kissing him again before she stood, trying not to let her face crumble at the pain that shot through her body as she made her way, very slowly, toward the console to drive her home. River wanted to stay with him, but now more than ever she felt the need to leave him — he’d go pick up Clara, she thought, and have any adventure with smaller stakes and run the panic she felt like an electric current beneath his skin every time he touched her. She also knew that if she didn’t leave him now, she never would.

Before she could even place a single coordinate, however, she felt his hands settle gently around her waist, and he simply pulled her back into him kissing her back into him and held her close, crossing his arms over her stomach — careful of her wound — until she relaxed against him.

“I have to get back,” River said after some time passed. 

“Stay,” he said, like she knew he would.

“You know I can’t.”

“River,” he said, his voice sounding cracked and frail in her ear, and she turned around to face him. She immediately realized looking at him was a mistake, because he still looked so — so lost. River couldn’t decide if his concern was more or less touching because he already knew when she died. Of course, time was flexible, but there was a certain amount of comfort for him, certainly, in knowing that she couldn’t die today — although she was beginning to doubt that theory. “Please stay. Until you’re better, at least.”

She smiled at him, and her hearts nearly beat out of her chest with how strongly she wanted to just melt into him and say yes. To let him take care of her until she got better, to travel with him without an end date — but she had her own life, she had a date with Amy and Rory in a few weeks, and there was more than a little bit of danger in the two of them spending too much time alone together.

“You know I can’t, Doctor,” she said, but he kissed her anyway, and she didn’t manage to extricate herself for a few hours. But the moment he set her down at her apartment and the TARDIS dematerialized, she began to make calls and to research and to plan.

It was partly because she wanted it, but it was mostly because he needed it; she wanted to give him something solid to depend on, wanted to relieve some of his guilt and some of his grief. He’d given River so much — he’d given her the freedom to dictate her own life and person, he’d given her his hearts, and now she was going to give him the family he’d been piecing together for years, but had never quite managed to secure.

First, she went to see her parents.


	2. But When He Tried to Walk Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> River recruits the Ponds.

“River,” Amy said, glowering at her over a glass of wine. The angle she held it at spilled a drop onto the table, and Rory reached over to dab at it with his napkin, pulling at his color. “Hates goodbyes, that raggedy man, but we said ours. If you can figure out how to see us, he certainly can too. I miss him everyday and sometimes I miss traveling with him, too. But this is our life now.”

“I know,” River said, leaning over the table to grab her mother’s hand, imploring her to listen. “I don’t want you to change a thing — I just want you to take a week or so off to give me a hand. Please, mum. For me.” When Amy sighed and sat back in her chair, River turned to Rory. “Dad?”

Rory leaned forward, looking at his daughter with slightly narrowed eyes. “Every time you had a plan when we were kids, I ended up locked in a closet or pushed down a flight of stairs or waiting for you to find me under some bleachers and on two very memorable occasions on fire. Forgive me for not hopping on your bandwagon.”

Amy laughed slightly, and when Rory shot a glare in her direction, she tried to cough to cover it up, but she caught River’s gaze with a keen eye and they shared a smile for a moment, remembering. River’s relationship with her parents was odd, to say the least, adn alternated between properly parently to River as the parent to childhood playmates, but it was always strong and always one of the most valued things in her life. Her parents looked about her age, now — Rory had a bit of grey around his temples and laughlines even when he was frowning, and Amy’s glasses were forever perched on the end of her nose though her hair remained flaming red. But they were still Amy and Rory. Still ridiculous, still brilliant, still hers.

“This is different,” River insisted, “and besides, I like to think I’ve matured since then.”

“How old are you, anyway?” Rory asked abruptly, tilting his head.

“You’re her father, numpty, you can’t ask that.”

“What, do you know how old she is?”

“A lady never tells,” Amy sniffed. River laughed, reaching out to take a sip of her own wine. Of course neither of them had any idea how old she was — they couldn’t possibly, after all. They were mostly linear at this point, but there was no way for River to know when in the future she might need to take a step forward or a step back, and so although they discussed important life events, River kept a few bits and bobs vague, to avoid confusion. Amy’s diary had been left in the 21st century with the rest of her things.

“Spoilers,” River said, almost habitually. Amy leaned over to flick Rory in the head, and his exasperated expression made her double over with laughter — which of course upset the healing wound on her side, and she found herself doubled over in pain a moment later, clutching her side and biting back a whine. Rory was at her side instantly, hovering over her, hands on her shoulders.

“River, what’s wrong?” he said. She gritted her teeth together against the pain as she sat up, batting him away as he fussed over her.

“Give her space, Rory,” Amy said, though she was standing by River’s side as well.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” she insisted, waving for them both to sit back down. They did with some hesitation, and River sat up straighter, careful not to jostle her injury any more than necessary. She healed a bit quicker than human, but not instantly, and if she didn’t stop forgetting that she was injured in the first place she probably wouldn’t have reopened it a dozen times since it had begun to close. “Just a close call the other day. Bit of a blaster burn. Nothing time and paracetamol won’t cure.”

“What have we told you about getting shot, young lady?” Amy said, her tone teasing, but her expression serious. A thin line knit itself between her eyes as she looked at River.

“This is exactly the problem, though,” River pressed. “You didn’t see his face — I really am fine, wasn’t even close to dying, but he got so worried. He looked ill for hours after, and all I could think was that if something happened to me, that stupid man would be all alone, and he might not try to fix it.”

“He’d find someone,” Rory said.

“He always does,” Amy agreed.

River shook her head, though. “Every time he loses someone else, I watch him close up a bit more. After Manhattan, well — he sat on a cloud for years. All alone. Doing nothing but brooding and glowering and letting the universe turn on without him.” She shook her head again, more emphatically. “I won’t have it. I’m going to do something about it. Will you help?”

Amy and Rory both hesitated, looking at one another for a moment; River watched the minutiae of expression between them, the slight twist of lips and the tiniest lift of a brow, and wondered if this was how she and the Doctor looked to others. After a beat, both of her parents said, simultaneously, “fine.”

“Don’t be so enthusiastic,” River said, rolling her eyes.

“Did I mention that time you set me on fire?” Rory said, and Amy snorted halfway through taking a sip of her wine. When she looked at River, her expression was no longer guarded as it had been at the beginning — she looked excited.

“So what do we do, hm?”

River reached into the bag beside her chair to withdraw a spare vortex manipulator, which she handed to Amy. “I’m going to teach you how to use this, and you’re going to run an errand for me while I take care of a few things myself.”

Amy grabbed the vortex manipulator eagerly, turning it over in her hands like it was the most exciting thing she’d seen in years — which, given the time period they were living in, it may have been. After a moment of looking it over, however, she paled a little bit, but River was quick to cut in.

“Don’t worry, mum. Dad. It’s not nearly as difficult as it looks.”

“Easy for you to say,” Amy said, “you have a time head.”


	3. He Wasn't a Child

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> River goes to visit the Smiths. Amy and Rory visit Clara on a Wednesday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohh, I'm nervous about this. I've not really written anything that wasn't basically only River/Doctor for this fandom, so if it's bad, apologies. I'd like to know what you think, though, because it'll help me going forward if I'm doing something particularly badly!

“Are you sure this is it?” Amy asked, squinting at the piece of paper onto which River had written some coordinates. Rory looked a little woozy from the time travel, and Amy reached a steadying hand out to him as he nodded.

“It’s got to be, doesn’t it? We typed in the coordinates just like River said, although she does spend a lot of time with the Doctor so hopefully his directional sense isn’t rubbing off on —”

“Oh, Rory, look!” Amy exclaimed abruptly, grabbing the collar of his jacket and spinning him around to face the residential street as a car passed. “The twenty-first century! Cars that look like cars! And they’re driving on the proper side of the road. Oh my god. Rory — Rory, I bet they have internet.”

“I reckon they do,” Rory said dryly. He grinned at her enthusiasm, although he couldn’t help ribbing her a bit for pointing out the obvious.

She gave his shoulder a shove before placing a kiss on his cheek and started toward the house that supposedly belonged to Clara Oswald. “Come on, idiot face.”

—-

River arrived at the Smiths’, her hair only a bit worse for wear. She tugged at her curls a bit and started to head toward the pleasant, squat little house before her. She was halfway up the walkway when she spotted Martha out of the corner of her eye, leaning against the gate that River assumes leads to the backyard.

“Pretty sure you’re not a Time Agent,” Martha said with a raise of her brow, “so I’m not sure why you’d have a vortex manipulator.”

“Well spotted,” River said, veering toward Martha with a smile she knew was a little too toothy — she was just a bit excited to meet Martha Jones, if she were being honest. The Doctor’s companions were all, by and large, wonderful people, and River generally adored them when she met them with very few exceptions. But there were certain companions that she wanted to meet more than others, certain characters in the Doctor’s stories who she found particularly admirable. Martha Jones pretty much topped her list, and she stuck out the hand with the vortex manipulator on it for a shake.

Instead of shaking her hand, Martha reached out to grab her wrist, and leaned over her arm to more closely examine the device. River waited patiently, sighing ever-so-slightly. It would’ve been so easy to just announce herself as the Doctor’s wife, or even just telling others she knew him, but she couldn’t help but enjoy the little bit of intrigue that she inevitably found herself tangled in when she met new people. She had a great love for drama — it was one of her best and worst traits.

“This is stolen,” Martha said, releasing River’s hand. “I don’t work for UNIT anymore, but I can still report you.”

“No need, dear,” River said, smiling still. “I didn’t steal it, I bought it on the black market.”

“Oh, that’s loads better, is it?”

“Well, I didn’t kill him,” River said with a shrug, deciding it was probably best not to note that this was a significant thing, coming from her, a trigger-happy ex-assassin. Martha opened her mouth to respond, but River cut in: “Anyway, I’m not here to talk about me, fascinating and mysterious though I may be.” She paused to bat her eyelashes. “I’m here to talk to you and your husband about a mutual friend.”

River didn’t miss the way Martha’s face lit up at the vague insinuation. She was a clever girl, though — time traveling woman shows up talking of a mutual friend. Certainly she’d make the connection to the Doctor.

“Who are you?” Martha said.

“Do you want the long or the short version?”

—-

When Clara opened the door, Amy’s mind went completely blank.

Rory swayed on his feet, clapping his hands together in front of him awkwardly, and adhering to Amy’s instructions that he let her do the talking. Unfortunately, everything she intended to say fled her mind the moment it really dawned on her that the tiny, wide-eyed brunette in front of her was the Doctor’s current companion, and Amy was one of his ghosts.

“Hello?” Clara said after a moment of awkward silence, and Amy shook herself, trying to clear her head.

“Right! Right. Hell-o, I’m Amy, and this is my husband, Rory.” She reached back to slap his shoulder gently, and he gave Clara a bit of a wave. “We’ve got to have a talk.”

Amy pushed past Clara into the house, ignoring Rory’s apologetic, “I’m sorry, she’s just so Scottish” as he entered behind her. Clara followed, arms crossed over her chest as she hurried to cut Amy off and stopped in front of her.

“I don’t know you,” Clara said, “so I don’t know what we need to talk about and hasn’t anyone ever told you it’s rude to just walk into someone’s house?”

“Someone does tell her, all the time,” Rory volunteered, and Amy glared at him.

The whole situation would’ve diffused so easily if Amy could’ve just found it in her to introduce herself fully — hello, I’m Amelia Pond, and the Doctor is my best friend. But that wasn’t, strictly speaking, correct. She loved the Doctor, and although she also loved her life with Rory in New York now, she missed him and their adventures. She missed being Amy and her boys, off to see the universe with a fierceness that she forgot until she really dwelled on it. Even though she wouldn’t have traded her life now for anything in the world, even though she would’ve made the exact same decisions every time, there was a whole in her chest where the mad man in his blue box had once lived.

The only accurate statement was that she used to travel with the Doctor, and the past tense felt like a burr in her throat, something she couldn’t quite coax past her lips. She stared stupidly at Clara for a moment, until Rory stepped up behind her and wrapped an arm around her waist; he always knew, of course, when she was hurting, even if she tried not to let on. She swallowed, leaned into her husband a bit, and decided on something simple.

“We’ve got to talk about the Doctor.”

Clara narrowed her eyes, her chin jutting upward in a slightly defiant manner Amy knew the Doctor must’ve loved almost as much as he found it incredibly annoying. “Are you going to knock me unconscious and draw me into another dimension to have a chat with some aliens and dodgy tea?”

“Er... no?” Rory said.

“Well then,” Clara said, uncrossing her arms and grinning, suddenly miles more open. “Would you like some tea?”

—  
Martha narrowed her eyes at River a bit, but shuffled away from the gate and gestured to show River into the backyard. It was a rather large, fenced in area — the grass was green, and the back patio was surrounded by well-kept flowers.

“My husband gardens when he’s stressed,” Martha said with a half-smile as she led River to the table, in a way that made River think she didn’t even know she was doing it. 

“He must be stressed often,” River said, settling down across from Martha. Martha was clearly still wary of River — she kept an arm resting inconspicuously at her hip, her hand resting vaguely near what River assumed to be either a communication device of some sort or a weapon; River’d spent much of her young life with her finger on one trigger or another, after all. She was well able to recognise when someone else was doing it, too.

“We sort of freelance,” Martha hedged, drumming the fingers of her other hand against the table, “although something tells me you know that.”

“I do,” River said, leaning back in the chair and resting one hand on each armrest. She was careful to keep her face friendly and her legs uncrossed as well — she wanted to appear as open as possible to Martha, not that she had anything to hide in this case, but she found her instinct was to be somewhat less than approachable, which wasn’t a great tact to put someone at ease. “Freelance alien hunters.” River’s eyes sparkled with amusement.

Martha nodded. “Alright. You know who I am. Who the hell are you?”

“Professor River Song,” River said with a smile. “Archaeologist.”

“Time-traveling archaeologist,” Martha corrected, tilting her head.

“That too,” River said.

“When are you from?”

River tried not to wince, though she felt her smile falter a bit. “That’s a more complicated question than you’d think, really.”

“I’ve never met anyone who traveled in time like him, though, except for maybe Jack, and the Doctor never really approved.”

“No, he wouldn’t,” River said with a bit of a laugh. “He likes to think he’s the only one who can hop, skip, and jump through the universe, but it would be awful for anyone who had to talk to him if he were. The ego he’d get, I can’t even imagine.” 

Martha smiled a bit at that, her hand relaxing ever-so-slightly at her side. “You’re human, though. Another companion of the Doctor’s, from the future?”

River laughed outright at that. “No. Not human, really, and certainly not a companion.”

Martha grew tense again, and River sighed; she wanted Martha to lead the conversation, so she’d feel in control, and trust River more quickly, but it would’ve been so much quicker if River had simply explained all in one go. “Then what have you got to do with the Doctor?”

“Oh, loads, dear.” River said. “I’m his wife.”

—-

Amy and Rory settled down to tea across from Clara, who’d been chattering amiably at them as she boiled the water. Once she sat down across from them, though, her eyes narrowed a bit, and though she smiled, she looked a bit calculating to Amy — traveling with the Doctor did that to a person, though. Made them a little wary. The TARDIS showed people all the wonders of the universe they’d never even imagined, but it also showed them the shadowy corners that they’d never wanted to. Clever girl, Amy thought, you’ll last much longer being wary.

“So, you traveled with him too?” Clara asked politely, pouring them both a cup.

“Yes,” Amy said, and Rory shifted his hand to cover hers where it rested on the table. “He came to me when I was a little girl, and then came back when I wasn’t. He was my best friend, that raggedy man.” The words were simple enough, and she and Rory certainly spoke about the Doctor and their time with him, but speaking about it to someone whose adventures with the Doctor still lay before them felt like dragging sandpaper through her throat; the words felt heavy on her tongue, and she fell silent afterward.

“Stupid chin, though,” Clara added brightly.

“Really stupid chin,” Amy agreed with a laugh, feeling a bit looser. Clara looked like she wanted to ask a question — probably why Amy had ever stopped — but clearly didn’t think she should, and Amy quite agreed. Hers was a cautionary tale, and though she’d landed on her feet, it had been traveling with the Doctor that had quite literally pushed her from a great height; she’d have advice to offer Clara, later, when she felt less gobsmacked by this whole experience, but for now she just wanted to get through it. Amy continued before anyone else could: “but the thing is, we really care about that stupid chinned idiot, don’t we, Rory?”

“We do.”

“And our daughter says he’s in a bad way. Or he will be in a bad way. Or he’s always in a bad way and lies about it. Whatever. The point is, he’s got more friends than anyone else in the universe and doesn’t have a lick of sense when it comes to keeping in touch with them — but he needs them. Needs us. Needs a family, and he’s gone all about the universe collecting all these people and making them love him, but he’s never stopped to let them, you know, love him.”

Clara stayed silent for a moment, and Rory squeezed Amy’s hand as she sipped tea with the other one. She’d acted reluctant to carry out River’s crusade, and she had been — she didn’t really realise until she’d started talking that she knew exactly what River was talking about. All that time that Amy spent with him, all those adventures, all that running; he’d been a major part of her whole life. He knew everything about her, knew her life and loves and hates top to bottom, but she didn’t know nearly so much about him. She understood him, on some levels, and she knew he loved her, but he didn’t quite let her all the way into his life.

“Alright,” Clara said, sipping her tea before placing it carefully on the table before her. “A few questions.”

Amy nodded.

“One: your daughter?”

“River Song,” Rory said, “she said she’d met you.”

“River Song is your daughter?”

“Yeah,” Rory said, looking faintly ill, as he did every time he tried to explain River to someone. “It’s... complicated.”

“She has your nose, a bit,” Clara remarked, tapping her chin with a finger. “Where’d the space hair come from?”

“The what?” Amy and Rory said together.

“You know —” Clara mimed a shape above her head. “-- it’s just so large and magical looking. Space hair.”

“And you laughed at time head,” Amy muttered to Rory, who grinned, before turning to Clara. “And I couldn’t say — you should’ve seen her when we were kids, she looked nothing like me at all.”

“She’s always had great hair though.”

“What?” Clara said.

“Oh, that was before she regenerated,” Amy said with a wave of her hand, “although she’s always had my fabulous self-esteem and excellent people skills.”

“By that,” Rory said, sipping his tea, “she means that River’s always been loud, stubborn, and opinionated with a tendency to verbally beat people into submission and make them like it.”

Amy glared.

“I said you make them like it, Amy.”

“Right,” Clara said, looking very much like a pupil thrown headfirst into high-level maths. “Alright, I’ve got more questions.”

—-

“You’re his... wife?” Martha said.

River nodded. “Yes. And a little more than human. But even I can’t handle this on my own.”

“Handle what?” Martha said, leaning forward on the table, suddenly worried. “Is something wrong with the Doctor?”

“Not yet,” River said. “But the Doctor and I — we’ve got a complicated relationship. I travel in time, as you noted, but so does he. We never quite catch one another in the right order. We’re a bit backwards, really, which we normally handle rather well but the problem is, it means he’s seen my end already. I know he has, though he avoids saying it if he can. He’s lost so much, Martha — at the risk of sounding conceited, which I don’t actually mind too much, he can’t lose me. And I know I’m coming up on the day when he will. So when it happens, whatever it is, when I can’t look after him any longer, I need you to do it.”

“Me? Why?”

“Not just you — Mickey, too. I’m going to contact others. I want the Doctor to know that there are people out there who love him.”

“But of course he knows that,” Martha said, looking slightly wistful, “everyone who meets him loves him.”

“You’d be surprised — that man can convince armies to turn around with a mere sentence, and so he can convince himself that he’s alone and worthless quicker than a blink. I worry about him.”

“He always carries on,” Martha says. “When I traveled with him, he’d just lost Rose, and he...” Martha trailed off, looking a bit awkward.

“He loved her,” River supplied with a smile, making it clear that she didn’t mind. Oh, if she were to get jealous over all of the Doctor’s dalliances over the years, she’d never have time for anything else. Besides, he’d told her all about Rose. He’d needed her at that time, and River felt in many ways indebted to those who had helped her Doctor through hard times in the past.

“Yes, and he was miserable about it — really, really miserable. But he moved on. He got over it.”

“After a fashion,” River agreed, “as he has done for hundreds of years — but he’s getting worse. He’s getting old, heavy with time and sadness — he’s not going to be able to stay afloat if there’s no one there to remind him to swim, and he won’t go looking for help this time.”

Martha sat back in her seat. “It would be nice to see him. What do you need me to do?”

River sighed a bit, relieved, and then smiled. She stood and pulled back her sleeves, already inputting the coordinates into the vortex manipulator. “Tell me where you husband is, and we’ll pick him up on the way — we’re going to go for a quick trip back in time, Martha Jones.”

“You are his wife, aren’t you?” Martha said with a smile. “Alright, Professor Song — show me the stars.”

—-

Amy and Rory spent the next hour trying to explain things to Clara’s satisfaction, but she was extremely inquisitive. Every answer was met with a follow-up question, until she seemed to reach understand, repeated what they’d been trying to say in a paragraph in a succinct sentence, and move on to her next question. By the time Amy got around to explaining what they were even doing in her house, they were so engrossed in their conversation that none of them heard the sound of the TARDIS materialising upstairs. In fact, no one heard the Doctor coming down the stairs, either. No one reacted to him at all until Clara spotted him over Amy and Rory’s shoulders, and nearly dropped her mug at the look on his face.

Amy saw Clara’s expression and immediately froze — she heard footfalls behind her, as someone dismounted the stairs and took a few stumbling steps forward, and she knew it was him. Her heart seized in her chest, and she had to swallow a few times to keep the urge to cry at bay. Placing her tea cup with a deliberate effort not to shake on the table before her, she turned around in her chair to see him — her Doctor. Her imaginary friend, her raggedy man, her best friend. That stupid face with that stupid chin, those stupid eyes all filled with stupid tears — his stupid hair, and the stupid bowtie, and the stupid bowlegged way that he stood. He looked shocked, understandably so, and his hands hung limply at his sides as he mouthed the word a couple of times before finally managing, “Amy... Amelia?”

“Hello, raggedy man,” Amy said, her voice thick.

“Doctor,” Rory said beside her, sounding equally choked up. The Doctor hesitated a moment before lifting a hand to his head and saluting.

“Centurion.”

Amy wasn’t sure if the Doctor was going to laugh, then, or run, or sob — he looked so confused and hurt and happy and torn, but before she could even decide what to do, Rory lurched from his chair, and in a few wide strides threw his arms around the Doctor in a huge hug. Amy laughed, startled, and the Doctor looked shocked for a moment before relaxing into the embrace, wrapping his arms around Rory and squeezing his eyes shut as he placed a kiss to the side of Rory’s head.

“No ponytail, I see,” the Doctor said when Rory pulled away, clearly feeling a bit awkward.

“Nope,” Rory said, “I learned my lesson when I died.”

“Which time?” Amy and the Doctor said together. They all laughed, the Doctor and his Ponds, and things felt as though they fell into place — Amy finally stood and launched herself at the Doctor, only to be met halfway with a bone-crushing hug.

“I’ve missed you,” she whispered in his ear, squeezing him tightly.

“My Amelia Pond,” he said, and she felt a bit of wetness around her neck where he pressed his face. Words seemed to fail him for a moment, and she felt him swallow a couple of times before he finally settled on: “gotcha.”


End file.
